


Come Back

by yosgay



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: (for chapter 5), Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sad, M/M, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4729082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yosgay/pseuds/yosgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Hajime is searching the islands for the bombs, he walks in the warehouse while Nagito is... setting things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Back

_He’s fucking insane,_ Hajime thinks for the millionth time today, breathing heavily with the effort of running around the island. What the fuck is he thinking, trying to blow everything up?! Is that was this has come to? _I have to find them… have to..._

His muscles are burning, heartbeat in his ears, as he throws open the door to the warehouse in his search for the bombs that Nagito hid somewhere on one of the islands. He tears through boxes of stupid Monokuma merchandise, his frustration building as he continues to find everything _except_ what he’s looking for. Notebooks, cutouts… _is that a fucking Monokuma board game?_ _Where does he come up with this stuff?_ He shakes his head and continues to desperately paw through all the junk — and stops cold as he hears a strange noise.

“H…ello?” He starts guardedly, and it’s like the whole world has gone silent apart from a rhythmic _slish_ sound every few seconds. _Is it my imagination? Or…?_ He tip-toes his way to the back of the warehouse where the odd sound is coming from, and tentatively reaches towards the heavy curtains draped along the wall. Slowly, as slowly as he can muster with the fear and adrenaline shooting its way through his body like nicotine, he pulls back the curtain, expecting anything from an awaiting serial killer to one of Gundham’s hamsters. Anything… but this.

“K-Komaeda-kun?!” He gasps, taking in the sight of the last person he expected to find, doing the last thing he expected to see. “Komaeda… _stop!_ ” His brain can barely comprehend what he’s seeing right now, the rope, the duct tape, and _why the fuck is there so much blood?_ His body reacts first, before he’s really got a grasp on what’s happening, and Hajime lunges toward the white-haired boy, who hasn’t even seemed to _notice_ that he’s here, and tries to grab the knife that he’s raised in the air. But he’s a split second too late, and the knife comes down hard on its target- Nagito’s own leg.

His muffled scream behind the duct tape is _desperate_ , thick and sharp with an absolute _agony_ , and when Hajime reaches for his hand, raised again, clenched white-knuckle tight around the handle, this time he doesn’t miss. He tries to hold his arm back but Nagito’s _strong_ , way stronger than he would have expected with how skinny and weak and _sick_ he looks, and Hajime still has no fucking idea what is going on, and what am I supposed to do, and _why are you doing this?!_ He dimly registers the rope tied to his limbs, the cuts on his arms, the spear hanging precariously above them. He doesn’t even _like_ Nagito, the insane bastard, and, honestly, if he had found him in any position _other_ than this one, his hands might have even found their way around his neck for all he’s put them through today. But the blood… the broken whimpers from the back of his throat, they go right through him, and he doesn’t know why, but he has to help him, save him, do something, _anything_ , to make him stop.

“Nagito, _you have to let go!_ ” He pleads, tears starting to blur the writhing, bloody figure he’s fighting with. His pale green eyes are darker than usual, swirling, unfocused, and the only thing Hajime can see is pure determination, like Nagito _has_ to do this, whatever _this_ is.

Hajime twists his wrist back hard, harder than he probably should have, and he hears a pop. Nagito twitches for a moment, breath caught in his throat, and his hand finally relaxes, the knife falling to the ground. In one swift motion, Hajime shoves him to the side and wrenches open his other hand holding the whip, letting the spear on the rafters clatter to the floor next to them. He rips the duct tape from his mouth, grabs his shoulders and shakes, hard. “ _What the hell are you doing?!_ What _is_ this?!” Nagito’s gaze floats lazily around the room, like he still hasn’t registered that someone is even _here_ , until his eyes settle on Hajime, and he stares coldly.

“Hi...nata...kun…” He says, his voice sounding far away. He tries to push Hajime off of him, reaching for the knife again. “Get out. I have to…”

“ _No,_ ” Hajime says forcefully, “I’m not letting you _do_ this to yourself.”

“I have to… only way for… _hope_ …” he speaks brokenly, weakly, like if he doesn’t do this soon he’ll miss his chance, and that's exactly what Hajime is hoping for because… because… well, he’s actually not quite _sure_ why, and at that moment, his resolve weakens a little, and he loosens his grip on Nagito’s boney frame.

Why is he trying to help _Nagito?_ Nagito, who is apparently trying to… what, _kill himself_? Why should Hajime care? Wouldn’t everything be so much _easier_ now without him, without his cryptic clues and deflection and new fucking _attitude_ , and Hajime can’t find a clear reason in himself to help him, but, at the same time…

When Hajime first woke up on this island, scared and confused, with so few memories to help him piece things together, Nagito had just _been there_. He was the first face he saw, and back then, he was the only source of real comfort or peace he could find in this place. The time they had spent walking around the island during his free time, exploring, searching, passing back and forth half-serious guesses about Hajime’s true talent — Ultimate Spiky Hair, Nagito had said — it was _fun_. Since the first murder trial, Hajime _desperately_ wanted to believe that the real Nagito was in there somewhere — the one who he had joked and laughed with, the one who made everything okay. He caught glimpses, every now and then — like when Nagito would greet him in the mornings with that carefree smile. For just a moment, Hajime would forget where he was, that he was trapped in this place, that he had every reason to fear for his life. That he was talking to a psychopath.

Hajime looks down, as Nagito pathetically gropes around for the knife that’s clearly out of the reach of his bound limbs, gasping quietly every time he moves too quickly, blood still soaking through the legs of his pants. Hajime doesn’t understand him, and that’s part of what makes him so terrifying. But if he's honest with himself he just wants the old Nagito back so _badly_ , he just wants this killing and this craziness to be over already. He reaches for Nagito’s bloody hand and weaves his fingers through, stopping Nagito’s squirming with a sharp glance.

“Nagito…” he murmurs, leaning down to wrap an arm around him. Hajime pulls him close, the tears from earlier threatening to spill over now. “Come — come _back_ …” his voice breaks as he pleads, burying his head in the crook of Nagito’s neck. Nagito’s body relaxes, releasing the tension of him initially recoiling from Hajime’s touch. His free hand comes to rest on Hajime’s head, and he tenses, expecting a hard yank on his hair, expecting a harsh rejection. But instead, he’s surprised as thin, nimble fingers begin to card gently through it, and he pulls Nagito closer. He’s crying now too, tears disappearing into Hajime’s hair, sobs wracking both of their bodies as they each hold onto the other like a life line.

“It _hurts_ , Hajime, god, i-it hurts so _bad_ , *hic* I don’t want to — b-but, but if I don’t —” Nagito hiccups, wrists straining against the rope as he tries to hold him _closer_ , like they aren’t already as close as they can get, like if he loosens his grip on Hajime he’ll lose his grip on _everything_.

Hajime lifts his head from Nagito’s chest, and all he can see is the old Nagito, the _real_ Nagito, the one who would do anything to make this better, the one who could find hope in anything, before he let it corrupt him and _saturate_ him. He needs this Nagito to _stay_ , needs him like air in his lungs, because he’s pretty sure that _he’s_ the one who’s going to lose his grip.

_“I am truly in love with the hope that sleeps inside you.”_

The words flick into his mind as he places his hand on Nagito’s face, and he’s so _cold_ , skin almost translucent in its paleness, and he carefully traces his thumb along his blood-splattered cheek. Nagito holds his breath, like the slightest movement might scare Hajime away, and he ghosts his fingers over trembling lips. Nagito inhales sharp, and as more tears start to fall, Hajime moves into him, as gently as he can. The world stops, and he just wants Nagito to stay here with him, to be _normal_ again, to be _his_.

Hajime breaks the kiss after a long moment, a little light-headed, and Nagito’s eyelashes flutter dreamily. Keeping his hand securely grasping Nagito’s, he reaches for the knife and quickly cuts at the ropes, freeing his hand and both feet, and slides the knife as far away from them as it’ll go. When he turns back to him, Nagito is watching him carefully, curiously, but he looks so goddamn _timid_ , and Hajime just wants to hug him all over again.

“I don’t understand you,” Nagito says quietly, more lucid than he looks, wincing as he shifts his legs to sit up. There are tremors in his voice, and his eyes are still wet. “Someone like me doesn’t deserve —”

Hajime sighs tiredly, and gathers him into a warm embrace, cutting him off, just holding him for awhile.

“Just shut up, Nagito.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hated nagito until this part in the game and now it just makes me so sad and i just want him to be happy and goodbye


End file.
